by Katie Ruggle
“No, Noah.” Her voice wasn’t even shaking anymore. In the back of her mind, she was proud about that. “He wasn’t. He isn’t a good guy. Do you know that he’s being investigated by the FBI?” Belatedly, she checked in with Shankle, unsure if she should’ve shared that information with Noah. The agent rolled his eyes, and she made an apologetic face, but he just made a “keep going” gesture. Grace hoped that meant she hadn’t just ruined years of the FBI’s work.
Noah was sputtering on the other end of the line. “What are you talking about? Uncle Martin? What kind of investigation? Is it because of those guys you saw? Because I’m sure you were mistaken. I can’t even conceive of my uncle torturing people.”
It was Grace’s turn to roll her eyes as she wondered what she’d ever found so entrancing about Noah Jovanovic. If he was telling the truth, then he had to be the most unobservant, naive person ever to walk the earth. If he was lying, if he was perfectly aware of all the bad things that Martin Jovanovic had done, and Noah had just accepted them, helped hide them… Grace’s stomach turned. It was hard to believe that she’d dated a monster. She hoped that Noah just had a huge blind spot when it came to his family.
“Noah, I saw it. I saw them.” She tried to keep her tone even, but the tremor was back in her voice. The image of the men’s injuries, of the bloody, empty spot where the one’s eye had been, rose as vivid and clear as if she was back there, seeing them for the first time. Shankle reached over and gave her hand a quick squeeze before retreating to his side of the table. That contact, as short as it was, returned her to the present. “There’s no way to innocently explain this away. Martin is not a good guy. He’s never been a good guy. That FBI investigation started a long time before the dinner party. I tried to report what I saw, but Martin sent Logan Jovanovic after me at the police station.”
“Logan?” Disbelief was still thick in Noah’s voice, but she took slight comfort in the fact that he hadn’t hung up on her yet. After all, if he truly didn’t believe her, didn’t think in his heart of hearts that his uncle could do those terrible things, then he would’ve ended the call by now. “My weird cousin Logan? Are you sure? He’s kind of…awkward socially. He might have been trying to ask you out, and you just misunderstood.”
“He wasn’t trying to ask me out, Noah.” Shankle’s silent presence was the only thing that kept her from thumping her forehead against the table in frustration. Grace had expected some disbelief, probably some yelling, but she hadn’t predicted this obtuse refusal to see the truth. How could he have grown up with Logan and not know that the guy wasn’t just “awkward,” but actually capable of killing on Martin’s orders?
“This is all so crazy,” Noah exclaimed after a long moment of silence on both ends of the call. “After you disappear for weeks, I get a call out of the blue, and you tell me that you ran because Uncle Martin—my uncle Martin, who’s like a dad to me—is torturing guys during a dinner party. Not only that, but he sent Logan to kill you. Sorry, but this is a little tough for me to wrap my brain around.”
“I know it’s hard.” She felt a tiny spark of sympathy. After all, she had a tough time believing everything that had happened, and she’d lived it. “It’s true, though. Why would I make this up?”
“I have no idea.”
Grace wasn’t sure how to take that. She grabbed a pen and notepad lying next to Shankle’s computer and scribbled “meet?” on the paper before turning it toward the agent. He studied her for a second before nodding in a sideways motion that Grace interpreted as “yes, as long as you’re okay with it.” She wasn’t okay with meeting Noah, a guy who was either criminally naive or just…criminal. Before she could decide, Noah spoke again.
“Why are we having this conversation over the phone?” he asked, sounding calmer. Grace wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. “You never told me where you are. Give me your address, and I’ll pick you up. I want to be able to see with my own eyes that you’re okay.”
Her brain raced. This was it. She could turn him down and hope that Shankle’s program worked and that Noah wasn’t able to track her. If so, she could hide in Monroe for the rest of her life, spooking at shadows.
Even as the thought passed through her mind, she rejected it. How could she endanger her new friends, her new…Hugh, whatever he was to her, by keeping that target on her back? Martin Jovanovic had contacts everywhere. He’d find her eventually. Even if the meeting was a mistake, if Noah was lying through his teeth and couldn’t be convinced to help them find evidence of Martin’s crimes, at least she was doing something, trying something to fight her way out of the fake life she was living.
She took a deep breath and blew it out, meeting Shankle’s serious gaze.
“Okay,” she said, proud that her voice didn’t shake at all. “Let’s meet.”
* * *
“You’re doing what?”
Grace winced, more for Hugh’s concussed, newly released-from-the-hospital head’s sake than for her own ears. “I’m meeting Martin Jovanovic’s nephew in Denver tomorrow to try to convince him to help us find evidence against his uncle.”
Hugh glared at her, and she gave a tiny shrug in response. She knew it had been a rhetorical question, but her answer was the truth, and no amount of bellowing was going to change anything.
“I need to do this, Hugh.” Grace met his gaze evenly. “You know exactly what it’s like when someone’s gunning for you, putting other people in danger. I can’t just hide and do nothing.”
He paced his living room, and she watched him. It had only been a day since she’d been trapped beneath him, terrified that he was dead, and she couldn’t get enough of just looking at him. He’d caught her staring several times and teased her about checking him out. Instead of rising to the bait, she’d just smiled. Hearing him joke and laugh was a gift, and she was going to enjoy every second.
Listening to him bellow wasn’t quite as enjoyable, but he was alive, and that’s all that mattered. Hugh stomped across the floor and then pivoted around. When he saw her smile, he stopped and demanded, “What’s funny about you meeting up with some ex-boyfriend who just happens to be related to the guy who wants to kill you?”
“Nothing.” The reminder sobered her somewhat, although she couldn’t help but smirk a little. “You reminded me of Theo just now, with the pacing and the frowning.”
She walked over and grabbed his hand, pulling him down with her as she sat on the couch. “Sit. Your Theo pacing is making even me tired, and I’m not the one who just got out of the hospital.”
He allowed her to tug him down. When they landed, he immediately reached over and hauled her into his lap. Startled by the quick movement, and by how easily he manhandled her with only one fully functioning arm, she stiffened for a moment. Soon she relaxed, leaning against his chest. It was much more comfortable to sit that way on a couch than in a car. Her head fit nicely between his shoulder and neck, and his hand stroked her back, releasing tension she’d held on to fiercely for the past stressful weeks.
“It’s kind of weird being here after the deck…incident.” She stared across the open lower level at the sliding glass doors that had opened to the now-destroyed deck. The doors were still strung with police tape.
He tensed. “Yeah.” After a short pause, he asked carefully, “Are you okay being here? We could go to Otto’s instead. Or Jules’s. Or Theo’s clown car of a house.”
“No.” Her reply was immediate and honest. “I feel safe here. It’s just odd to see empty space where your deck used to be. Will you rebuild it?”
“Yeah. I’ll use concrete and rebar this time instead of wood. Make it harder on any bastard who wants to kill me.” She flinched, and Hugh’s arms tightened around her.
“You smell good,” she said, snuggling more tightly against him. “I think I’ll stay here forever. You’re like aromatherapy in a strong, warm, mouthy package.”
&nbs
p; He did his usual post-explosion laughter that was quickly capped, and Grace frowned, reaching up to stroke the side of his head. “Still hurts?”
“I’m fine,” he said, and she rolled her eyes and pinched his belly, making him yelp.
“Liar.”
“Sadist.”
“Please,” she scoffed, although her hand was stroking instead of pinching now. She couldn’t help herself. He was just so…washboard-y. “You love my sadist tendencies. Weren’t you begging me to tie you up?”
He pulled back a little, tucking his chin so he could glare down at her. “I didn’t beg.”
“Sorry,” she mock apologized, using her nails instead of her fingertips to scratch lightly against his abs. Although he tried to keep his pretend offended expression in place, his eyes went to half-mast, making his pleasure obvious. If he were a cat, he’d be purring. “So you don’t want me to tie you up.”
He shifted beneath her and cleared his throat. When he spoke, his voice remained husky. “I’m not saying that.”
Laughing low in her throat, she slipped a hand under his T-shirt. Although he’d just been at the hospital for twenty-four hours, it felt like longer. It was nice to have the freedom to pet him without being interrupted by a nurse or a doctor or a crabby lieutenant—or an even crabbier Theo. “Yeah? So what are you saying?”
“I don’t want you to go to that meeting tomorrow.”
With a groan, she turned her head so her forehead was resting against his collarbone and then rocked it from side to side. “Hugh. Hugh. Hugh. Hugh. I have to go. I’ll be careful, and a bunch of FBI agents will be watching out for me, and we’re going to be in a busy mall filled with people. Even if Noah is involved in Martin’s business, he’s very concerned with his reputation and things like, you know, staying out of prison. He won’t do anything to me with all those shoppers around, ready to be witnesses. If he isn’t willing to work with us to nail Martin to the wall, then we part ways, and I go back into hiding. We’re not going to lose anything by giving this plan a shot.”
Lifting her head, she saw his frown hadn’t eased. If anything, it was even deeper than before. What worried her more was his silence. Hugh was a talker, she’d learned. The only time he went quiet was when he was either in pain or very serious about something. She had a feeling that, right now, he was both.
Changing tactics, she leaned in to kiss his neck. When she pulled back to check his reaction, she saw he was still scowling. Grace took this as a personal challenge. Returning to a spot right under his jaw, she kissed him again, a light peck, and then licked the bristly skin. He shivered, and she couldn’t hold back a devilish grin as she met his gaze.
“Did you just lick me?” he asked. Although she could tell he was attempting to sound grossed out, laughter underlay his words.
“Yes.” Just for fun, and because he tasted good, she did it again. “It’s like when you’re with a group of people, and there’s only one cookie left, so you grab it and lick it in order to claim it.”
“You’re”—he paused, his breath catching as she ran her teeth lightly over his jawbone—“claiming me?”
“Yes.” Her answer surprised her, and she went still, thinking about it. It hadn’t been very long since she’d first met Hugh and dismissed him as an ass, but it had been an intense few weeks. When she thought he’d been hurt, even killed, by the explosion, she’d been terrified, even more so than she had been in Martin Jovanovic’s house. She wasn’t exactly sure what her feelings were, since they were roiling around inside her like a whole nest of agitated snakes, but Grace knew she’d never felt this strongly before about anyone. She had a strong suspicion—a very strong suspicion—that she was in love with this man. It was enough to make her consider trading her wonderful, hard-won life in California for the tiny, often-cold town of Monroe, just so she could stay close to Hugh. “If that’s okay?”
Hugh cleared his throat. “So you’re basically slapping an I-belong-to-Grace sticker on me.” His good hand stroked from her shoulder to her wrist and then back up again.
“Basically.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” He ducked his head so he could reach the side of her neck and give it a long lick. Giggling, she attempted to twist away, although she didn’t try too hard to avoid his tongue. “And now you belong to me, too.”
Hearing it out loud made her go still, her ticklish laughter dying in her throat. It sounded so nice. “I like that.”
“Yeah. I do, too.” They smiled at each other for a second before Hugh grew serious again. “I’m going with you tomorrow to the meeting.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?” He sounded surprised. “That was easy.”
With a snort, she responded, “Of course it was. I’m glad you’ll be there. I wish you were there when I called him. You make me brave.”
His face softened. “You’re already brave. I just remind you of that fact.”
That was just too much. She had to kiss him. Shifting to straddle him so her knees pressed into the couch cushions on either side of his legs, she cradled his face in her hands. His un-casted hand stroked up her side, from her hip up to her arm and back down again.
His mouth turned up in that devilish way that both exasperated and amused her. “This reminds me of a couple of days ago. Weren’t we in this very position?”
“Hmm…” She pretended to think, even as her thumbs slid over his cheeks. It was wonderful being able to touch him like that. If this was the reward for claiming him, she wished she’d licked him days ago. “I vaguely remember something similar to this, although I recall a cold, wet dog nose more vividly than anything. I nearly jumped out of my shorts.”
He started laughing, and Grace was immediately fascinated by how that made his face move under her fingers. “Good thing the owner of that cold, wet, interrupting nose is spending another night at Jules’s house.”
Grace smirked at him. “Because Dee looked at you with big, hopeful, pleading eyes, begged you for one more day with Lexi, and you totally caved.”
“What can I say?” He shrugged, not looking at all bothered about being a total softie. “When a lady begs, I give her what she wants.”
Her eyes immediately narrowed in challenge. “Oh really?”
His gaze grew wide in response, and he immediately defaulted to his adorable puppy look. “It would be rude of me not to.”
This time, Grace didn’t cave. “Oh, Hugh,” she said breathily in her best phone-sex-operator voice. His eyes got even rounder before lowering to half-mast. “Please, please, give me what I want. I’m begging you.” What started out as teasing turned into something completely different as his gaze, intent and hot, met hers. The barely banked fire inside her roared to full, flaming life, and her brain turned off. She couldn’t remember what she’d just been saying. All she knew was that she had to kiss Hugh…right now.
She didn’t know who moved first. It felt like there was an invisible signal, a silent starting-gun blast that sent them lunging toward each other. Their lips met with an almost painful force, but she barely noticed, too intent on getting as close as she could to Hugh. Her hands slid over his head and clutched the back of his neck, pulling him even tighter in to her. It wasn’t enough. She needed to touch him, to feel his muscles moving under his heated skin.
Her hands dove under his T-shirt, finding that bare flesh she craved as they kissed hungrily. She forgot to breathe until dark crowded the edges of her vision, and then, struck by what she was doing, Grace pulled back, ripping her mouth away from his. They stared at each other, panting.
“What’s wrong?” Hugh asked, his voice little more than a growl. His pupils were dilated, and his mouth was already swollen. She stared at it, mesmerized by his full lips, desperately wanting to kiss him again.
“Your head,” she said, tearing her gaze off his mouth with a huge effort of will. “And your arm. You’re hurt.
I shouldn’t be taking advantage.”
He laughed—a short, sharp sound—as he slid his unbroken arm behind her back to pull her impossibly closer. “I’m not feeling any pain when I’m kissing you,” he said. He seemed as fascinated by her mouth as she was by his, if his staring was any indication. “So, please, take advantage of me.” Tipping his head down, he paused with his mouth less than an inch away from hers. “I’m begging you.”
Grace stopped breathing again for a second before she grabbed his head and closed that tiny gap between them. Her lips, already tender from their previous kiss, throbbed at the pressure, but she didn’t mind. Everything—that tiny ache, the heat rushing through her like lava, the feel of his chest in front of her and his iron-hard arm behind her—came together in a rushing flood of need. If she could’ve managed to say a word, she really would have begged Hugh to keep kissing her, to touch her, to undress her and complete her and never leave her alone again.
The magnitude of her feelings overwhelmed her, and she fell deeper into his kiss. Now wasn’t the time to think, she told herself, yanking up his shirt. Now was a time for kissing and touching and stripping down to bare skin.
Hugh pulled back just far enough for her to work his shirt up over his chest, breaking the kiss to yank the fabric over his head and pull one arm free. The other sleeve caught on his cast, and Hugh let it go, leaving the fabric to drape over his casted arm. Grace was fine with that. In fact, with the wide, gorgeous, wonderfully naked male chest in front of her, she was fine with pretty much anything, as long as she got to keep Hugh.
She touched him, stroking across his pecs and strumming her fingers over his abs. It was like touching a work of art come to life, an almost-too-perfect sculpture made from warm, moving marble. The best part was the way he sucked in a breath when she brushed his side beneath his ribs, or when he groaned with pleasure as she lightly scored his nipple with her thumbnail. It was even better when she used her mouth to map his favorite places.
